


No Way Out

by the-ladyhades (Itrustyoutokillme)



Series: Misc Whump [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kidnapped, Stripped, Tortured for information, Whipped, naked, open wounds, suspended from ceiling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 21:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18859723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/the-ladyhades
Summary: For @killian-whump





	No Way Out

**Author's Note:**

> For @killian-whump

The last thing Killian remembered before his world went dark was the crack of a metal pole against his head. His job in the Navy meant he was a potential target for intel, but he never dreamed that he would actually become one. Not in a million years, and not since the chatter from terror cells has gone quiet.

Of course, home grown terrorists were on a different watch list.

That’s who had grabbed him from the street in broad daylight. He had seen them a few miles back, tailing his car around every turn he made. He had tried to shake them, tried every trick in the book to get them to back off, but they were persistent. In a last attempt to lose them for good, Killian had pulled over and illegally parked his car, hoping they would sail on past him and he would be justified in his paranoia.

No such luck.

They had stopped their car directly behind his and Killian had killed the engine, locking eyes with the driver in the rear view mirror. The man was not particularly large, but his travelling companion was massive. Arms like tree trunks, covered in tattoos and a shaved head. Killian could see he would be no match for the muscle, so he had decided to take his pursuit to foot, maybe shake them off with his street knowledge.

What Killian hadn’t counted on was them being as local as he was, and he was halfway across a bridge, the rain pounding against his face and blurring his vision, when he felt the dull whack of the pole on the back of his skull, dropping him to his knees. He blinked, focusing on the trickle of red on the concrete in front of him and knowing from the sting of the rain against his flattened hair that he was in trouble.

He was trained for this. He knew what they would try. He had spent months in training scenarios for this situation, but no one who underwent such training ever wanted to be on the receiving end. He was also a trained interrogator, so he knew what they would do to him, even before another hit to his temple sent his world black.

When he came too, it was dark outside. He could tell because the auto garage he was in had a skylight, caked over with dirt from the rain, but it was definitely pitch black outside. Parts of engines littered the room in front of him and he squinted against the fluorescent light hanging over him that seemed to burn into the back of his retinas like looking directly at the sun.

He heard a clunk and a grunt, rolling his eyes a little, willing them to open. Again he heard the noise and peeled his eyes open to see the larger of the two men who had taken him breaking his car into much smaller parts. He was careful, taking panels off and removing wheels with a huge wrench that he wielded like it was nothing.

“You won’t need this anymore,” the smaller man said, catching Killian staring. He was standing off to one side where Killian couldn’t see, but he could clearly see Killian through the frosted glass door between them. “Not after we are done with you.”

The sound of his voice seemed to jolt Killian awake and he ignored the pounding in his head as he lifted the weight of his head from his chest. The room was large, soundproofed and most likely the garage’s spraying room, judging by the specks of paint here and there and the huge, lockable doors. Killian was suspended from a metal bar that spanned the width of the room, his hands looped over it and handcuffed apart, his entire weight hanging from his wrists.

He tugged against the restraints, testing the metal that rested on the black bar, but it did nothing except amuse his captors.

“He thinks he can escape,” the big one said, tossing the wrench aside and moving towards him. Killian stiffened, suddenly realising that he was stripped and hanging without a shred of clothing on his body.

“It’s his Navy training,” the shorter one said, the scar from a deep slice across his face glinting silver under the lighting. “Nothing we can’t break.”

Killian balled his fists, pulling against the bar again. The cuffs dug into the skin around his wrists, pinching the flesh there until it bruised and his hands began to tingle from blood loss. There was a small relief when he flexed his fingers, but they felt cold and heavy from lack of blood flow.

The smaller man moved into his space, smelling of smoke and grease. He reached out a hand and gripped Killian by the jaw, holding his head steady and locking eyes with the Navy man, who let a fleeting glimpse of worry flash over his eyes. The man smirked as he leaned in and Killian looked away, his disgusting tobacco stained teeth so close to Killian’s face he felt sick.

“There are some very important people who want to know what you know,” he said steadily, his blackened fingertips digging into Killian’s cheeks. “I’m not above killing you to get my money,” he sneered, digging in his blunted fingernails.

“You’ll kill me anyway,” Killian ground out through a clenched jaw, his lips curling with a snarl. “I won’t say a thing.”

The big guy laughed, rearranging his weight on the balls of his feet and folding his chunky arms over his chest. A huge, tacky gold cross swung over his chest and it made Killian pray silently, suddenly reminding him of a faith he had lost long ago. He shot the guy a look, who had a gold tooth to match is pendant when he grinned. “He was hoping you’d say that.”

Killian swung his head back to the smaller man, who had moved behind him. He felt his skin begin to flush hot, the hairs on his arms standing to attention when he felt the waft of cold air that sent a shiver up his spine. His ears strained to listen to what the small man was doing, unable to spin in his position and relying solely on the gleeful expression of his captor’s companion to know what was about to happen was not going to be good.

The jingle of a chain caught his attention before he felt the sting of metal, the small links of the chain biting into the flesh on his back. Killian clenched his jaw tightly, eyes fixed on the huge man’s pendant that dangled loosely around his neck and felt his body shake when another burning strike touched his skin. Killian couldn’t stop his back arching away from the contact, his whole body swinging forward, a small grunt escaping his throat before he held his breath and willed the heat across his skin to end.

They let him swing, his hands clenched so tightly that he was sure his fingernails were digging into his palms. The chords of his neck strained, and he swallowed hard, finally exhaling, his eyes pinched closed. A single tear made its escape from his eyelid and he shook his head, despite the still thumping pain there, to clear his vision.

“Aww, did that hurt?” The bigger guy said, leaning forward to taunt Killian closer than he should have.

Killian whipped his head back, lurching forward as much as his restricted arms would allow and headbutted the guy with more force than he knew he had. The guy’s nose burst open with blood, dark crimson coating the cross that lay on his skin tight t-shirt. “Did that?” Killian spat, rolling his bottom lip under his teeth and tasting blood.

“Son of a bitch!” He roared, grabbing his face and stumbling backward. He dabbed his fingertips to his nose, inspecting them before grinding his teeth and looking at his friend. Killian couldn’t see, but the small man behind him gave him a nod of assurance, retrieving a larger chain from the box beside him.

“You are smart, Mr. Jones,” he said, fingering the thick, rusted links of the chain. “But I always get what I want, one way or another.”

“I won’t give you a single shred of information,” Killian growled, spitting a mouthful of blood towards the ground. “You might as well kill me now.”

Killian heard him laugh, the weight of the chain hitting the floor sending a wave of panic over him.

“Mr. Jones,” he chuckled eerily. “We’re not going to kill you,” he said, his words sickly sweet as he made sure the next blow to Killian’s back hurt much more.

Killian flinched, struggling to swallow the sounds that threatened to escape his mouth, clamping his lips closed as well as his eyes. The chain was bigger, much bigger, and its weight had impacted his body with far more force than the smaller chain, the skin across his back feeling like it was on fire. Thick lumps appeared across the skin of his shoulders and his adrenaline kicked in, soothing his emergent panic.

The man pulled the chain again, dragging the rusted loops across the floor, taunting Killian with the threat he couldn’t see. Killian’s breathing became ragged, his head hanging and he tensed for impact, the feeling long since gone in his arms. “We’re just going to make you wish you were dead.”

When the chain hit his back again, Killian felt the skin rip open, the welts finally giving way under the metal striking his body. He tried not to cry out, and he tried not to show weakness, but he was human after all and his training had not prepared him for this. Not one bit.

“Let us know if you feel chatty,” the larger man said sadistically.

When the chain hit his flesh again, the cold, oxidized links burying themselves into the open wounds already there and filling his body with an urgent feeling of nausea, Killian threw his head back and screamed.

There was no respite before the next blow seared a line of pain across his torso, the chain whipping his abdomen and sending his body sliding sideways along the bar. Tears flowed freely now, his brain fighting the urge to beg them to stop, a guttural wail echoing out into the room.

“No one will hear you in here. Scream all you want.”

He panted, deep, steadying breaths, before he called out at the top of his lungs, a primal scream filled with rage and adrenaline fuelled agony. His chest heaved, lungs burning from lack of oxygen and then his chin met his chest as he bowed his head, defeated.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you see? More on my blog on Tumblr @the-ladyhades


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